Immortal Leap
by Lajk24
Summary: A HL/Quantum Leap crossover. When one eternal boy scout takes the place of another, secrets are out, and danger invited in. Please R & R
1. Setting the Scene

IMMORTAL LEAP  
  
This is a cross-over between Highlander: The Series and Quantum Leap. There is a brief outline to the main plot and characters of each show included in the story if you are unfamiliar with one of them. This is being posted to both Highlander and Quantum Leap sections.   
  
Highlander is concerned with immortal beings. After dying once, they revive, stop aging and can't be killed except by being beheaded. One of the most famous of these is Duncan MacLeod, a 400 year-old Scottish Highlander.  
  
Quantum Leap concerns a top-secret time-travel project created by Dr Sam Beckett. Unfortunately, the experiment went wrong and he was stuck drifting through time, taking the place of other people whilst they got sent to the project and he attempted to change these people's lives for the better using his knowledge of the future.  
  
Usual disclaimers. I don't own anyone except Jim Matthews, Mark Daniels, and Ben Horton. Everyone else and the concepts of Quantum Leap and Highlander belong to various Powers that Be. I'm not making any money out of this.  
  
Feedback greatly appreciated. Please read and review. E-mail Lajk24@hotmail.com. Visit my web-site at www.the-word.freeservers.com.  
  
  
Chapter One: Setting the Scene  
  
Seacouver, January 1998:  
  
As the famous blue light faded, Sam Beckett found himself standing in front of a dead body. No, make that a decapitated dead body. Sam shuddered. The head was just a metre away from its body, the eyes wide-open in surprise, looking straight at him. 'Let's just hope I'm the cop investigating this, not...'. But his thoughts were cut off by his mind registering the feel of something heavy in his left hand, which was raised above his head...  
Seconds later there came the sound of an almighty crash as Sam dropped the blood-covered sword that his new host had conveniently left behind him. Sam knew there was no doubt that whoever his host for the duration of this leap was, he was responsible for murder. 'Oh boy', Sam murmured, turning pale.   
With that, as if it had suddenly decided that Sam deserved it after, the quickening finally started. Sam eyes widened as the head on the ground in front of him seemed to explode in a blast of white lightening. As tentacles of lightening reached out for him, he turned tail and began to run. Too late, though, the Quickening claimed him and, routed to the spot, Sam Beckett, time-travelling mortal, lost consciousness as the powerful Quickening of a 1000 year-old Immortal hit him with full force.  
  
  
Project Quantum Leap Headquarters, December 2002:  
  
Admiral Albert Calavicci was rudely awakened from a rather nice dream about Tina - who currently wasn't speaking to him, as he'd forgotten her birthday, again. Well, how was he supposed to remember trivial things like birthdays when Sam's life was in danger, again?!   
With a start he realised that it was Ziggy's code-one alert that had woken him.  
"Ok, Ziggy, this had better be good", he growled as he glanced at the clock. 4am. He groaned. Why couldn't Sam for once, just once, keep 'normal' hours.  
"You requested to be notified as soon as the new visitor arrived, Admiral. Our guest arrived approximately 5.7 minutes ago."  
"Uh-huh. Alright, I'm coming", he replied, getting dressed.  
"Why the code-one? What's the hurry?" he suddenly thought, as he made his way from his quarters to the waiting room.  
"Let's just say the visitor is not exactly co-operative, Admiral", the computer replied.  
"Oh".  
Al Calavicci was not a man who could be surprised easily. He'd lived through Navy training, Vietnam, his true love thinking him dead and leaving him for another man, five marriages...Not to mention chasing his best friend through time for the past seven years. However, even Al had to admit he was somewhat shocked at the scene that greeted him as to entered the waiting room.  
The visitor, who had only been there for six minutes, had one of the guards up against the wall, a hand round his throat and a dangerous look in his eyes. The other guard looked dazed and confused as he stood watching and wondering what to do for the best.  
"I said, I want to speak to whoever you're working for", the man said, calmly, but deadly seriously.  
Al cleared his throat. The man turned to him expectantly, his grip visibly loosening on the poor guard.  
"I believe that would be me", Al replied, meeting the man's eyes, and almost managing to meet their intensity.  
"Good", the man proclaimed.   
"Now", he continued, "I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. Since I have no idea how I got here, perhaps you could tell me. Where am I? Where is my sword? And what have you done with Richie?"  
Al tried not to visibly blanch at the casual mention of swords, and wondered at the pretty remarkable calmness and lucidness of this current visitor. It was certainly unusual. And, what was with the 'so-and-so of so-and-so-a place' introduction? Didn't that sort of thing die out in the Middle Ages?!  
"Well, Mr. MacLeod, I can't blame you for being curious. However, as my friends here might have told you, you're here by accident. We mean you no harm and will try to get you back home as quickly as possible. Beyond that, I'm afraid there's not much else I can tell you. As for your sword, I guess that's where you left it. And, I'm sorry, but I don't know anyone called Richie", Al replied, trying to sound affable and trustworthy, wanting to get this guy's story. Anything to get Sam started - and finished - on this one as quickly as possible.  
"Uh-huh", the man replied, letting the guard go.  
"So, who are you? What do you want from me?" he asked, slowly moving towards Al.  
"Admiral Calavicci, Mr MacLeod".  
Al yelled as MacLeod suddenly grabbed his wrist, seemed to look for something there, then dropped it.   
"Not a Watcher. Still, doesn't mean the hunters aren't behind this", he seemed to mutter to himself.  
"What was that for?!" Al asked, curiosity and indignation getting the better of him.  
"Oh, just checking you weren't a...Oh, never mind", MacLeod answered, appearing distracted. He suddenly seemed to remember himself, and turned back to Al.   
"So, how did I end up here? One minute I was, erm, fencing, the next I'm here?"  
'Fencing', thought Al, 'well I guess that explains the swords'.   
"I've already said that we won't harm you. Let's just say you've just become part of an experiment that went a little wrong...", he replied, unsure of how much to tell MacLeod. It wasn't a problem he often had. Many of their visitors believed they were dead or dreaming, or were too out of it even know what was going on.  
But, this MacLeod intrigued Al. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to him than met the eye. He didn't appear frightened, more curious, if anything, and resigned to the situation. Maybe he was planning an escape...  
"An experiment? One that involves kidnapping people?"   
MacLeod was wary now, Al could see it in his eyes.  
"I'm sorry, we didn't want to involve you, and we will try to get you home as soon as possible. I can't really tell you any more. I have to ask you to just wait here, and co-operate with us."  
"And if I don't?"  
"You'll just make it harder to get you back."  
"Why? What do you need from me!?"  
"Just some information?"  
"What kind of information?"  
"Just about your life, your friends, basic stuff".  
"Why, what do you know about me?!"  
"What? Nothing, that why we need your help".  
"I don't like this, but it looks like I have no choice", MacLeod replied.  
Al relaxed, slightly.   
"Ok, well, first off, where do you live?"  
"Seacouver".  
"So, who's Richie?"  
"He's my student, we were doing some fencing practice".  
"And, the date?"  
"January 18th, 1998, of course. Why ask that?"  
"Oh, just, you know. So, er, what do you do for a living?"  
"I teach martial arts, run a dojo...Wait, the date thing, what do you mean, I know?"  
'God, just how paranoid was this guy?' thought Al, 'but, how to get him off the subject?'  
"It's really not important."  
MacLeod laughed, but it sounded false to Al's ears.  
"I'm not that old that I can't remember the date, you know."  
"No, of course not", Al agreed, "Please, just forget I said anything".  
The words sounded forced even to his ears.   
"Fine". MacLeod smiled, and Al still got the impression he was just playing along. There was something about this guy that he just didn't get. He wasn't scared, but anxious, and not trusting one bit. Well, Al could play games as well as the next man.  
"Um, this is gonna sound a little strange, but is there anything, I dunno, strange going on in your life at the moment. Things going wrong, you aren't in danger of loosing your job, no one's after you, are they. Your friends aren't in danger, are they?"  
Al laughed. It would be so much easier if he could tell him more of what was going, but he just didn't trust MacLeod. His gut instincts were telling him this wouldn't be an easy one.  
"What!?"  
"I know, crazy, isn't it? But, just trust me for a minute".  
"I'd trust you a lot more if you just let me have my sword back".  
"Sorry, pal, like I said, we don't have your sword". He glanced at his watch. 4.30am. He'd been here half an hour and had nothing to take to Sam. A name, a date, a city, and a job title. All of which Sam probably had already. His friend would be wondering where he was, and with his guy, who knew what trouble he was in. At least Sam could cope with a few martial arts classes, but...  
It was then that MacLeod did the inevitable. Seeing Al look at watch he also glanced at it. 4.30. It had been 7pm when he'd left the dojo to fight Matthews. He then saw himself reflected in the watch face. Or, rather, he didn't see himself, he saw the face of Sam Beckett.  
"What the Hell is going on? That's not me!"  
"Oh, boy!"  
"What kind of experiment is this?" Duncan asked, wonderingly.  
"That, er, that's the face of Dr Sam Beckett. Right now, he's in Seacouver, looking like you, and you're here. You've, er, swapped places.."  
"How? That's impossible!... Wait a minute! You said this Dr Beckett looks like me. People will think he is me?"  
Al nodded.  
"Damn!" Duncan swore.  
"You have to get him back here. Let me get back there. He's in danger!"  
"I'd love to, Mr MacLeod, but that's the problem, you see. We can't."  
"You can't?"  
"No. That the part that's gone wrong. Sam's stuck jumping into different peoples lives, fixing them like some kind of boy-scout doing good deeds, and we can't get him home!" Al replied, his voice escalating, his usual frustration showing when he thought of the unfairness of Sam's position.  
"Wow!" was all that Duncan could say, again. Despite himself, he couldn't bring himself to really dislike this Al Calavicci. After all, he hadn't tried to harm him in any way. He obviously cared for this Beckett guy, and Duncan couldn't help but feel sympathetic for him. Must be the Boy Scout in him, he mused. However, he had to get Beckett away from his life, the last thing he needed was more mortals getting mixed up in things and getting hurt.  
"Wait a minute", Al suddenly announced, unwittingly copying Duncan's words from earlier.  
"What do you mean, Sam's in danger?"  
"Let's just say that my life could be dangerous to someone not used to it. I have people coming after me and Sam won't have a chance against them".  
"Why? What kind of shit are you involved in MacLeod?"  
"I- I can't tell you that..."  
"Don't try that one on me. I wrote the book!", Al snapped.  
Duncan just shrugged.  
"I'm sorry, but I can't risk it. I don't know a thing about you".  
"Uh-huh. Well, I hope you don't mind an innocent man's blood on your hands, 'cos if anything happens to Sam, I'm holding you personally responsible. An innocent man who's more than likely trying to fix your life for you even as we speak!" 


	2. Secrets Revealed

Chapter Two: Secrets Revealed  
  
Seacouver, January 1998:  
  
As a matter of fact, Sam Beckett was at that moment regaining consciousness, in Duncan's home. Richie was looking over him, worryingly. He'd found 'Duncan' passed out at the sight of fight. Not unusual, but worrying because he'd seen Mac beat Matthews, but hadn't seen him pass out from a Quickening - not a fight, just a Quickening - since the Dark Quickening.  
"Ohh, what happened?"  
"You lost consciousness after the Quickening, Mac. Are you alright?"  
Sam, assuming his name for this leap was 'Mac', just nodded.  
"You're sure? I mean, no offence Mac, but you normally take Quickenings better than that".  
" 'Quickenings'?" Sam murmured.  
"Uh, sure, I'm fine", he groaned.  
"Ok, well, I'm, um, I'm gonna phone Joe. I said I'll get back to him about that thing, you know..." Richie replied, making excuses.  
Richie left the room and Sam took the chance to look around him.  
He was in what looked like a converted loft. It was fairly spartanly decorated, but not uncomfortable. Whoever lived here must be pretty well off, Sam thought.   
Gathering his thoughts together, Sam tried to run through what he knew so far about this leap. His name was Mac, this was probably his home, or the boy's - who's name he didn't know. He obviously wasn't the boy's dad, as he called him Mac. Finding a mirror, Sam saw a reflection of a tall, dark man, aged about 35. Maybe he was the boy's brother, he thought, although there was no real resemblance. The television was on, and from what he could see, it must be the 1990's. A dairy on the table, confirmed it was the year 1998. Well, that was the who - kind of - and the when, now he needed the where and why. Not to mention the mysterious murder! He decided to make some dinner. At least that was something to do while his head was trying to get around this latest leap. It was obviously getting dark and there was no sign of any dinner having been recently made, or eaten. So, he was just cutting some vegetables fifteen minutes later, Richie still hidden in the other room, when behind him, he heard the door to the project opening.  
"Hey Sam," greeted Al.  
"What do you have for me Al?" Sam whispered, not wanting to alert Richie. He whipped around to face his long-awaited friend, and managed to cut himself.  
"Ow!" he just managed, before a faint blue light flickered and the small cut healed before their eyes. Blue eyes met brown ones, both men in shock.  
"Did...?!" gasped Sam.  
"Holy...! He was right!"  
"Who? What the Hell is this, Al? Did you just see that? It...it.."  
"It healed, Sam. Like he said!"  
"What is going on!?"  
Al took a deep breath.  
"Wellll. You are definitely not going to believe this one!" Al replied, his thoughts on what their current guest had just revealed about himself.   
  
Ten minutes earlier...:  
  
"Alright, alright", replied Duncan. He could see that Calavicci was about to lose it completely.  
"Never let it be said that I don't help people who need my help", he continued.  
"How about, you tell me your secret and I'll tell you mine", he suggested.  
Al shrugged. He didn't really have much choice, and he had a feeling that whatever MacLeod was about to tell him would be important to the Leap. Besides he already knew much of what Quantum Leap was about, and it was unlikely that MacLeod would remember much when he returned.  
"Well, as I already told you, you are part of an experiment, created by Dr Sam Beckett. He used a Quantum Accelerator and 'Leaped' into other people lives, literally into their bodies. At the moment he is in your body in 1998 Seacouver. I can contact him by a neural link and holographic technology."  
"Wow, this is amazing."  
"The other thing is, it's a time-travel experiment. The year here is the year 2002."  
"Time travel?!"  
"We've discovered that Sam leaps in order to change people lives for the better, and we use our knowledge of the past to help in this. That's way we really need to know about you."  
"What needs changing in my life?"  
"I don't know yet, and if I did I couldn't really tell you. We've found it's dangerous to let people know too much about their own future. Quite frankly the only reason I'm telling you this much is because you probably won't remember much when you return to your own time, and because we had a deal".  
"I see..."  
"You believe me?"  
"I'm not really sure. It sounds amazing, but then again why not? There are certainly more strange things in the world than people know about. I've seen a lot of things in my 400 years but never a time-traveller before!"  
"Did you just say 400 years?!"  
"Yeah. I'm Immortal. I was born in 1592 in the highlands of Scotland. I can't age and can't die unless I'm beheaded."  
"But that's impossible!"  
"Oh, and time-travelling scientists happen all the time?"  
"But...but that's science. Immortal beings...? That's like...science-fiction...".  
"Well, it's a fact I've lived with for 400 years. I don't know why or how, but it's true. Trust me on this one. And I'm not the only one".  
Al just shook has head in amazement. But MacLeod didn't seem to be having him on. In fact, he was more open than previously, and Al was a pretty good judge of character.  
"So what's the danger that Sam's in from all this?" Al asked, trying to take his mind off the unbelievable and focus on something he could cope with.  
"That's the downside. There a Game, a deadly game that all Immortals are forced to play. We fight, to the death, and in the end there can be only one".  
"Fights, to the death? But you can't die?"  
"We behead the looser. That's why we have swords. I don't go looking for challenges but I'll fight if forced. Unfortunately I've taken a fair few heads in my time and often have other Immortals come looking to challenge me. That's why your friend is in danger, and he is not Immortal!"  
"Oh Boy! This is crazy!"  
"Look, I'll prove it to you". With that Duncan grabbed Al's tiepin and cut himself with it. Al watched, fascinated, as Duncan bled and then...  
...Continued bleeding. For the first time in almost 400 years, Duncan MacLeod didn't heal. He suddenly felt very mortal.  
"Righttt..." was all Al could comment.  
"Look it's true. All this means is that, as we've swapped places, Beckett's the one with the immortal powers, but that doesn't mean he's out of danger."  
Al continued to look sceptical.  
"Just watch him if he cuts himself. I believe you, so just believe me. Now, you said you can contact him, so go do it. I can't let any more mortals get hurt because of me!"  
  
Speechless, and still amazed at the thought of a visitor advising him on Sam, Al just ran from the room.  
"Well, that went well", commented Duncan, sarcastically. He'd obviously been hanging around with Methos too long.  
"Are you really 400 years old, Mr. MacLeod?" can a detached voice, in reply.  
"Yes..Uh, who-who said that?"  
"I am Ziggy, Mr. MacLeod, Dr Beckett's hybrid computer. Now, tell me about your life, it must be fascinating to life for so much longer than 'normal' humans?"  



	3. Science-Fiction Or Science-Fact?

Chapter Three: Science-Fiction or Science-Fact?  
  
"Oh come on, Al. Surely you don't believe him!" replied Sam.  
"Well, I dunno. How else can you explain what just happened to your finger? It's strange, I'll give you that, but he was so calm about it, so matter of fact. I'm a pretty good judge of character, Sam, and from the start there was something...different...about him. I didn't trust him, but when he came out with all this immortality stuff, it seemed to suddenly be the truth. He didn't have to tell us! I think he's a lot like you actually Sam..."  
"Like me?! How can he be like me?! I don't go round chopping people's heads off for fun." Well at least that explained the murder, but to be quite honest it made Sam's blood run cold. What kind of man had he leapt into?!  
"Nor does he. It's just the life he was thrown into, like you and leaping. And he uses it to help others. He teaches young immortals, and...and other things."  
"Oh this is ridiculous, Al. Can you hear yourself?! There is no such thing as immortality. We live, we die, it's a fact of life..."  
"Uh-huh. And you? You live, and you leap, and you leap, who knows how this is affecting your body or anything. Living in other peoples bodies, you could live for 100's of years..."  
"Nonsense. My body is still ageing and I guess, when that dies, so will I, just like everyone else."  
"But you're not like everyone else, Sam. And nor is MacLeod."  
"That's completely different. This is science. That is - is just unnatural!"  
"Well, Sam, after all we've been through, I never thought you were be so accommodating to something different. After all, weren't you the one who convinced me to believe in gut instincts, and even ghosts and vampires..."  
"No, we knew the ghosts weren't real, and the vampire wasn't either. Gut instincts are to do with body chemistry and are proven to be true", Sam snapped.  
"I'm sorry Al, I trust you, but I don't trust some guy who you admit is acting strangely who you suddenly believe can live forever just because your friend proved that time-travel is possible - scientifically possible! I just don't believe it..."  
"Oh hey, this must be Richie, MacLeod's student", Al quickly informed Sam, as Richie returned.  
"What don't you believe, Mac?" questioned Richie, coming back into the room.  
"I, er, don't believe that I took so long to recover from that Quickening, I was just thinking out loud..."  
"Yeah, tell me about it. Say, who's the guy in the loud suit? Aren't you going to introduce me?" Richie asked, with a cheeky grin.  
"Huh?" was all Sam could manage.  
"Oh boy, I think he means me Sam. He can see me!"  
Now Richie was confused.  
" 'Course I can see you, man, you're standing right next to Mac..."  
"And hear you..." Sam muttered to Al.  
"What's going on, and why did he just call you 'Sam', Mac?"  
"I, er, you'd better sit down, Richie".  
Richie sat.  
"Sam!" Al hissed, "You can't just tell him the truth".  
"I have to. What other choice do I have?"  
Al couldn't think of any.  
"Ok, Richie, here it is", Sam tried, sitting opposite Richie. "It's going to be hard for you to believe, but it's the truth. I'm not MacLeod.."  
"Ha, ha, nice one Mac. Are you sure that Quickening didn't mess you up even more than we thought?"  
"Quickening?!" asked Al Sam shrugged.  
"Huh!" Richie looked into 'Mac's eyes. Despite appearances, there was something about an Immortal's eyes that gave away their age. Although these eyes looked old and like they had seen a lot, they were not 400 years old. Richie also swore that he could see specks of blue in the brown, which had never been there before. Something strange was definitely going on.  
Sam Beckett suddenly found himself looking at the business end of a very sharp sword.  
"Ok, who are you then? And where's Mac?"  
"MacLeod's safe", interjected Al. Richie turned to touch his sword at Al's throat, and, of course, met with thin air.  
"What?! What are you?! Some kind of ghost? Well it's not Christmas and I think I've enough haunting in my life thank you very much".  
Richie on the defensive was very prickily indeed.  
"Richie, calm down..."  
"Calm down, calm down? I just manage to stop worrying about you not having lost your head to Matthews and then I find that it wasn't even you - sorry, wasn't even Mac - cos you're somehow here instead of him, looking like him but there's a difference, I know you're not him. And a ghost or something. And you want me to calm down?! Now I want some answers and I want them now!"  
That said, Richie sat down, slightly stunned, nearly dropping his sword. Sam just grinned wryly and sat opposite. He knew Richie wasn't a danger and was just worried about MacLeod.   
"MacLeod is safe. The truth is, and I know this is going to be hard to believe, but I'm from the future. I'm a scientist and I invented a time-machine. It allows me to somehow leap into other people's lives. I swap places with them for a few days, and everyone sees me as them, well almost everyone".  
"But that's impossible!" replied Richie, interested despite himself.   
"It's the truth, Richie. My name is Sam Beckett. I was born in...in, uh, 1953, in Indiana..."  
"Now you sound like Duncan MacLeod!"  
Even Al had to laugh at that one, as he remembered his meeting with Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod.  
"...and I invented a time-travel machine. I can travel in time, leaping into other people's bodies. Right now, MacLeod and I have changed places. He's in my body in the year..."   
He glanced at Al, helplessly. Due to both the swiss-cheese affects of leaping putting holes in his memory and the confusion of changing time periods every week or so, Sam had absolutely no idea what the date was where Al was or how long he had been leaping.  
Al hesitated just a second before the helpless expression on his friend's face made him bend the rules and give Sam the date.  
"2002".  
"2002", Sam whispered.  
"It's been seven years..."  
He paled but quickly shook off his melancholy thoughts and continued his tale.  
"...and I'm here. I'm here to help, and when I done what I'm here to do, I'll go onto the next leap and MacLeod - Duncan - will return."  
"I don't know. This is weird stuff you know."  
"Richie, I don't even know what a Quickening is! You have to believe me!"  
"Ok, ok, say this is for real? Why are you here, and who's the guy in the loud suit?"  
"I'm Al, kid, and I'm a hologram. I'm not really here. I'm back in a holographic imaging chamber in the year 2002. My image is tuned to Sam's brainwaves, which is why usually only he can see and hear me. I'm his link with his own time and I help him out".  
"So why can I see you?"  
"We think it's because your brainwaves are similar enough to Sam's."  
"Oh."  
"So, you believe us?" Sam asked quietly.  
"I..I dunno. You sure aren't acting like Mac. I have seen some strange things in my time".  
"Like 400 year-old men?" asked Al.  
"What?! You know about Immortals?"  
"Duncan told me", Al replied.  
"Oh", Richie replied again.  
"So, how old are you?" Al asked bluntly.  
"I'm 21, but I 'died' when I was 19."  
"Died?" Sam asked.  
"Now do you believe me?" asked Al.  
"Oh, so you ask me to believe some mad story, and you can't even believe that I'm Immortal! Thanks a bunch. What's going on anyway? Why are you here?"  
"You believe us?"  
"Oh hey, why not? Strange goings-on just about describes my life at the moment. First, after I meet the first people to really care for me in my life, I find out the guy's got somewhat of an extra-long lifeline. And, he has people with sharp sword after him all the time. Then, after life gets some normality, Tessa gets killed, so do I, but hey, guess what I'm not really dead and I get to look 19 for the rest of eternity!"  
Sam and Al exchanged a look. 'Issues', was all Al thought.   
"Uh, Sam, we don't know yet exactly why you're here."  
"Well, why don't you go back and try to find out!"  
"Oh, Ziggy's working on it. Besides I like this place...Oh, hey, Ziggy's says she's hooked up with MacLeod. She says it's fascinating to discover 400-year-old humans. She thinks MacLeod has a totally different view of the world than anyone else she's ever met".  
"Who's Ziggy?"  
"Ziggy's my computer. Back at the project."  
"What's she doing to Mac?"  
"It's alright. She only talking to him".  
"A computer that talks? All on it's own? Wow!"  
"She's one of a kind alright, Kid", Al laughed.  
"Oh, and she adds that MacLeod told her we should go to someone called Joe Dawson. He'd be able to tell us if anything strange is going on."  
"Oh, right, sure. I'll go call Joe again now. Boy, he'll never believe this one! He thought he'd seen it all, but oh, no, now we have time-travelling scientists!"  
"He says he's accepting this but it's obvious he still not comfortable with us", Sam commented.  
"Yeah, well, you can't blame him. It does sound pretty impossible. It's not like we make a habit of telling people. It sounds like he still has a bit of work to do on accepting this whole immortality stuff".  
"I still can't believe it! Do you think he could be the reason I'm here?"  
"To tell you the truth, I reckon MacLeod's the best one to fix that problem. Maybe I should talk to him about his student..." Al mused.  
Just then Sam found his head starting to tingle again, as it had when he's first met Richie. That feeling had settled to a dull ache, which he'd been ignored but now it was back, and stronger than before. Seconds later, the lift from the dojo came up. It was obviously someone used to being here.  
"It's only me Mac", announced a British voice, and a tall, slim man, with a hawk-like nose strode into the loft.   
"Who's that?" Sam whispered to Al.  
"I'll have Ziggy run a check", Al replied, watching the new arrival. He had quite an air about him, something that didn't quite fit with the student image he was obviously trying to convey.  
"That's Adam Pierson, a Watcher. What ever that is. Zig's now into the Watcher files. Oh right, they watch Immortals. Strange bunch! And this Joe Dawson's one of them. What's this. Adam Pierson is im..."  
" 'Im', what's 'im'?" asked Sam, watching his guest move around in the kitchen.  
"Want a beer Mac?" Pierson asked.  
"Uh, sure".  
Al banged the handlink.  
"Hang on there's more. 'mortal'. Huh? Oh! Adam Pierson is immortal. Holy shit!"  
"What?" Sam hissed.  
"Pierson is over 5000 years old!"  
"Him?! Never!!"  
"Yeah and his real name is Methos, but this decade's identity is Adam Pierson, mild-mannered Watcher and grad student. Regular Clark Kent ain't he!"  
"Why?"  
"Why what?"  
"Why is he hiding?"  
"Oh. Wait, Zig's asked MacLeod. She says he just gave an interesting display of Gaelic swear words. He says that at 5000 years old Methos is very powerful and everyone would be after his head. So, he hides to survive".  
"Interesting." Sam mummered.   
Al turned to look at his friend. Sam had gone deathly pale and was staring intently at the wall.  
"Sam? Sam, what's wrong, buddy? Talk to me".  
"I...He...How?"  
"Calm down and try again. And put your head between your knees. You might be having a panic attack".  
Sam nodded and did so, then took a deep breath.  
"How can someone be 5000 years old?! I mean, what do you say to the man? It's amazing. Think of all he's seen. All he's done. I can't get my head round it!"  
Al smiled. It was typical Sam. As a scientist he was always excited by discoveries but he also wanted proof. At least he had some imagination and vision, though, otherwise he could have been stuck teaching at MIT or somewhere, and what a waste that would have been. You had to have some faith to want to try and build a time machine. And Sam of course, being Sam, had not only had the vision but had made it a reality.  
"Sam, don't worry. He's just a person. Look. Besides, he's just having a beer. How much more normal can you get?" he replied.  
Sam gave him a look and ignored him as 'Adam' came in with the beers.  
"So where's the brat, Mac?" he asked.  
"Huh?"  
"You know, Richie?"  
"Oh, making a phone call..."  
Sam just couldn't look at the man. He sat opposite and sipped his beer, finding something very interesting to look at in the corner of the room - again.  
Al just shook his head and grinned. That was his friend Sam - Nobel prize winner, time-traveller extraordinaire, and here he was in the second most life-changing experience of his life and he had taken to inspecting dust!  
"Earth to Mac, Earth to Mac", tried 'Adam', no Methos, Al reminded himself, watching the scene play out with an even wider grin. For some reason the fact that this man was over 5000 years old didn't bother him. Once he'd accepted 400 years, another 4600 didn't seem such a stretch of the imagination. Still, he wasn't the one who had to talk to him!  
"Sam", Al coaxed, "He's talking to you".  
"Huh?" came the intelligent response. Sam turned to look at Al, then quickly at Methos, as what Al had said finally registered.  
"Sorry, what?"  
"Nothing, Mac, just wondering what planet you're on today".  
Sam laughed, weakly.  
"Oh, er, I've just got a lot on my mind", he replied.  
A fleeting, indescribable look passed across Methos' face.  
"Who is it this time Mac? I hope you're not about to go risking your head over some moral obligation to duty again".  
"What?"  
"Come on Mac. It must be something bad if you're this distracted. It's a wonder you're not brooding yet", Methos said, attempting to lighten the atmosphere again and get 'Mac' to open up.  
'Mac' meanwhile felt he had lost this conversation somewhere within the first syllable.   
"Huh?" he said again. Al groaned. Leaping around in time for five years had given Sam Beckett a certain amount of quick thinking and acting ability, never knowing who he was or what he was doing from one week to the next. This time though, Sam Beckett seemed to have forgotten that.  
"What is up with you today Mac?" Now Methos was starting to get a bit worried. MacLeod may not have known it but he seemed to spend half his life recently worrying about the honour-bound Highlander.  
"Is it a challenge? You know, swish, swish, parry, thrust, stab, 'there can be only one'?" Methos now made little sword swishing motions to illustrate.   
"Um, no", Sam managed.  
"OK, fine, don't tell me. I can't be bothered to play games today. I'll just have another beer." So saying he went back to the kitchen.  
"Sam, snap outta it! He's gonna know something's going on. It's bad enough that the kid knows..."  
Sam groaned, and turned to Al.  
"I...I can't! I just can't get my head around this!"  
"Well you'd better start, and soon! Look, I'm gonna go check on what else Ziggy's got, maybe have another chat with MacLeod. He may be easier to speak to now the kid knows as well."  
"OK, Al, see you later".  
"Hang in there Sam, you can do this".  
A door opened and then Al was gone.  
"That was just about the weirdest conversation", Richie commented, finally reappearing from the bedroom.  
"Besides, er, the one we had before..." he continued, looking at Sam.  
"Why?"  
"Well Joe didn't really seem surprised, Mac, er, I mean Sam..."  
" 'Sam'? Who's Sam?" inquired Methos casually, strolling back into the room.  
"Oh, er, Methos, hi. What are you doing here? I didn't notice you with all...didn't notice you..." Richie finished, feebly.  
"That's dangerous Richie, always take care to distinguish between the numbers of buzzes. It takes time, but you should be able to by now. Didn't you teach him that, Mac?"  
"Um, sure he did, I guess I'm just a little distracted today..."  
"Hmm, you too. It must be catching. So what's going on? I want an answer. It's not my birthday, cos even I don't know when that is, so you can't be planning a surprise party. Mac's already told me it isn't a challenge, though I'm still deciding whether I believe him. Please don't tell me Cassandra has reappeared", he said as the sudden thought struck him.  
"Not that I know of. Last I heard she was still in Switzerland on Holy Ground".  
"Holy Ground?"  
"Yeah, it's the only place we're safe. No fighting on Holy Ground".  
"Richard, strange as this may seem, I think Mac knows that."  
"Yeah, right."  
"So?"  
"So, what?"  
"So, who's this Sam?"  
"No-one".  
"Hmm, sorry, no, wrong answer".  
"Methos look, I don't mean to be rude but haven't you got somewhere more interesting to be?"  
"Why, Richard, are you trying to get rid of me? So you can tell your teacher more of the rules of the Game...?"  
"Um..."  
"I don't believe Immortals can get amnesia..."  
"Oh, for God's sake, we have to tell him Sam. I can't do this!"  
" 'Sam'?"  
"Yes, Sam. He's not Mac, he's Sam."  
"Sam Beckett".  
"I see. Like the playwright. What on Earth do you mean?!"  
"You're not gonna believe this..."  
"Try me, I've been around..." Methos was deadly serious. He wasn't leaving without a straight answer.  
"I'm Dr Sam Beckett, a quantum physicist and a time-traveller. I built a time-machine using a quantum accelerator, allowing me to leap into the past and into other people's lives, and bodies."   
"Impossible! Have you guys been watching 'Invasion of the Body Snatchers' again? If so, it's very good. You even have different mannerisms."  
"You noticed...?!"  
"I'm a student of human nature, I observe. Sue me. Now come on, enough already."  
"But...it's true!"  
"It's science-fiction."  
"No, it's science-fact", replied Sam, a need to defend his project, his vision, finally breaking through his shock, and not caring if yet another person knew who he really was.  
"In 1995 I built a time-machine, through a project called Quantum Leap, top-secret, government funded. I leapt, it worked, but instead of just travelling back to observe the past, I found myself living it. I leap from person to person and try and change their future for the better."  
"Why?"  
"Because we think that's the only way I can get home. Besides, if someone was going to die, wouldn't you save them if you had the knowledge of when and where it was going to happen?"  
"Depends. How do you know they aren't supposed to die? How do you know they don't give birth to a homicidal maniac if they live...?"  
"You don't, but we calculate the odds as best we can."  
"Uh-huh, so you're just a regular boy-scout just like Mac, then?"  
"Wait, you believe him?"  
"Jury's still out, kid, but it's a good story. You believe this?"  
"I do now. And I saw his holographic partner. Has Al gone, by the way?" Richie replied, double-checking for Al's presence.  
"Yeah, he went to speak to MacLeod."  
"Oh that's good, very good. Holographic partner, hmm? Do you have a ray-gun as well? What year are you from?"  
"I first leapt in 1995. It's 2002 now".  
"Not 2001? That sounds so much better."  
"Oh, just ignore him. I have to tell you about Joe", Richie said, remembering.  
"Yes, what about Joe?"  
Methos seemed to be ignoring the conversation now, but he was listening very careful, and watching MacLeod. Sure, he was acting strange, but, really, time-travel?! It had to be some kind of joke, hadn't it?!  
  



	4. Even More Secrets, Plus a Few Puzzles

Chapter Four: Even More Secrets, Plus a Few Puzzles  
  
"Joe believed me, just like that!"  
"What did he say?" Sam asked, at last having something to work on. Were they going to have to tell everyone on this leap who he really was? That could get dangerous, but somehow he knew that these people, with their own secrets, would not really put the project in any danger.  
"I told him that we had another, uh, situation. I said that we needed his help because Mac had been taken over by a scientist from the future".  
Sam groaned.  
"Richie, why? Do you know how ridiculous that sounds."  
"Yeah, yeah, I know, but I was confused".  
"It's done now, but what did he say?"  
"That's the strange bit. He didn't laugh, or call me crazy. He just went quiet for a minute and said, 'Is his name Sam Beckett?'"  
"What?!"  
"Well what could I do? I said yes, and he said he'd be right over..."  
"Oh my God! I..."  
Sam tried to get his thoughts together, but was saved by the bell. Or rather, a knock. Richie sent the lift down.   
"Richie, you up there?" came a voice.  
"Yeah, Joe. Join the party."  
Methos just raised his eyes at these latest developments, and sat back to enjoy the show.  
"Richie, is it true?" greeted them as an older-looking man with a cane emerged from the lift.  
At that moment, Al made a reappearance.  
"I've got some news Sam, and it's not good..." he announced.  
Two heads immediately turned in his direction. Methos watched his two friends lock glances at a point of thin air just to MacLeod's left.  
"Ok, yeah, I know, I know, you can't talk. But, Ziggy says there a 97% chance you're here to save these guys' lives. In two days time MacLeod, Pierson and Richie are all found dead. The guy who finds them is Joe Dawson and, what's more, he's accused of their murder..."  
"What...?!" Richie couldn't help himself.  
"Ahh shit, sorry Kid, I forgot you could hear me. Don't worry, we'll make sure this doesn't happen..."  
Richie had gone a deadly pale.  
"You really know what's going to happen. We can change it...?" he whispered, as this sunk in.  
"We can Richie, and it will be OK..." Sam replied.  
"Mac, translate will you". Methos was getting confused. Sam ignored him.  
"Why now? How can you stop a murder? Do you even know who the murderer is? Why couldn't you save Tessa when she was murdered..."  
Sam heard a deep intake of breath from Joe.  
"Richie...?" he warned.  
"It's OK", Sam said, glancing at Joe, then turning back to Richie.  
"Richie, I'm sorry. I don't choose where I leap. Who I can save and who I can't, but I'm here now and we'll stop this."  
"How?"  
"We're, er, still working on that, Kid", interjected Al.  
"Ok, ok, enough! Have you both gone completely crazy?! Thank goodness you're here Joe, I need some sanity", came Methos' helpful comments. But, again he was ignored, as Joe approached Sam and Richie.  
"Richie, are you Ok?"  
"I don't know, Joe, I don't know..."  
"What's going on?"  
"He says that you get accused of my murder and that of Mac and Methos..."  
Joe gasped.  
"Richie, you know I would never...!"  
Richie just nodded.   
"Are the bodies...are they, you know..headless?" asked Joe.  
"Headless?" asked Sam and Al.  
"Yeah, it's the only way we can be killed - permanently".  
"Um, yeah, they were headless. Sorry", Al told them.  
"They are", Sam confirmed, for Joe's benefit, after another interaction with 'thin air'.  
"My God", whispered Joe, "You really are from the future..."  
"Joe? You knew about this?! You believe this rubbish?! queried Methos, aghast.  
"Yes, Methos, I do. You really are Dr Sam Beckett?" Joe asked, in awe.  
"I am, but how...?!"  
Joe sat and proceeded to tell how he knew of Dr Sam Beckett. Even Methos listened intently, still feeling like he had stepped into the twilight zone, or was that just everyone else....  
"The summer I was 19, my parents decided to get a divorce. It turned messy and the court cases were stressful for everyone. My father accused my mother of having an affair. She denied it and everyone believed her, apart from my father. He kept on at her. Then she tried to kill herself".  
There was a collective gasp at this history of Joe's that no-one knew about. It seemed that he been keeping more than one secret over the years.  
Regaining his composure, Joe took a deep breath and continued.  
"She didn't succeed, but everyone believed it was me who had saved her, found her before she could take any more pills. That I had somehow known where to find her, known what was going to happen. No-one could have known. And it was impossible that I could have found her, because it wasn't me. I have memories of being somewhere else over four days that August. Vague memories of a white room, a cigar-smoking Admiral, and seeing someone else's face in the mirror."  
This time it was Sam and Al's turn to visibly pale, and Al was frantically hitting the hand-link.  
"Al...?"  
"It's coming Sam. Get a move on Ziggy!" he shouted.  
"Sam, did you..." queried Richie, amazed.  
"I don't know. Very possibly. Unfortunately, leaping plays havoc with my memory."  
"Got it! It was a leap from a few years ago. I'm surprised I didn't recognise the name!"  
Sam decided not to mention that there were probably too many names by now to remember them all, and just nodded.  
"Wow!" exclaimed Richie.  
"You can say that again. We never knew what memories leapees retain after the leaps, but we always thought it wasn't much. Guess we were wrong..."  
"You never told anyone about this, Joe?"  
"Of course not, who'd believe me? But, it is true isn't it, I didn't imagine it? Years later I saw a picture in Time magazine of a Nobel prize-winning physicist called Sam Beckett. It's you, isn't it?" Joe was in awe.  
Sam blushed. It looked very strange on Duncan MacLeod.  
"Yes, it is", he confirmed.  
"It's an honour to meet you Dr Beckett..."  
"Well, thank you. I'm only here to help..."  
"Guys, if you've finished with the mutual appreciation society act, can you please explain, in words of one syllable or less, preferably, exactly what the situation is here!" demanded Methos, still lost, although, being Methos, he was beginning to get the main idea. He just wasn't sure if he believed it. After all, he hadn't survived for 5000 years by believing every strange story he came across. Then again, if what Joe said was true, and the mortal wasn't exactly known for lying...  
They all turned to Methos.  
"It's all true, Methos..." Richie began.  
"So, you Mac, are really a time-travelling physicist, and Joe, you swapped places with him when you were nineteen and he saved your mother's life?"  
"Yeah, that's about the size of it."  
"Why? How?"  
"A quantum accelerator. It allows you to travel back into the past within your own lifetime", Sam explained, again. They all missed the slight shudder from Methos that accompanied that statement.  
"I don't get a choice as to where I leap. It was supposed to be for observation, but when I stepped into the accelerator too early I got stuck. We think that God, or time, or whatever is leaping me, and I'm destined to change history for the better. Then, maybe I can go home".  
"How long have you been leaping?"  
"Seven years, now, and it's getting tougher and tougher".  
"So, why are you here?"  
"It's us..." Richie exclaimed.  
"What do you mean, it's us?"  
"Slow down, OK", Sam interjected. Glancing around, he was surprised to notice that in all the confusion, he hadn't heard Al leave again.  
"Now, I have a link with the future, my friend Al. He supplies me data so that we know what to do. For some reason Richie can see him as well. Usually, only I can see and hear him as we use a nureo holographic link." He paused, almost hearing Al tell him that he was going into 'genius mode' again and babbling about technology and science.   
"Anyway," he continued, "Al says that I'm here to save your lives, and stop Joe getting accused of murder".  
"Someone frames Joe for murder?!"  
"Yeah, Methos, our murder! Yours, mine, and Mac's!"  
"Do you have any idea who the murderer really is - uh, was?" Methos asked. He'd decided, in the face of no other evidence to believe this unbelievable story. As usual, standard response when faced with the unknown, do nothing, go with the flow. If this Sam or whoever he was, even if it was Mac and something very bizarre had happened to him, turned out to be dangerous, he would deal with it then. Meanwhile, he would keep his eyes and ears open.   
"No. Joe gets charged, and although there is some doubt later, it's too late. Joe is executed..."  
"Oh, boy", whispered Richie.  
"Sounds like they wanted a scapegoat, too many 'strange murders' going on in Seacouver..."  
"Do you think it could be a set up?" asked Methos.  
"Hunters?" asked Richie.  
"Always possible."  
"It would be very unlikely for you to get caught at a scene of a quickening. Not to mention how unusual it would be for me, Richie and Mac to all be fighting at the same time."  
"Unless we were being hunted."  
"You think hunters and Immortals working together, Richie?"  
"Wouldn't be the first time, Joe", Methos replied with a grimace.  
"Hold it! What's a Hunter?"  
"A Watcher..."  
"Like you...?"  
"No, not like Joe! They think we're the scum of the universe or something and have to be killed. They break the non-interference rules even more than Joe does. Watchers usually observe and record, but Joe's our friend and helps us. We'd be pretty stuck without him."  
"Ahhh, gee, thanks, Richie," Joe replied with a soppy grin, before cracking up with laughter, closely followed by Methos. Richie shook his head - Watchers, they had the strangest sense of humour!  
"Why don't you get Al to find the police records or something. And any court proceeding reports?"  
"There wouldn't be any references to Immortals in them, though."  
"You'd rather die than tell the truth?!"  
"Always. If I'm dead, it doesn't matter. If the world finds out about Immortals and Watchers, it's chaos".  
The three friends fell silent as the reality of the situation sunk in. It was up to them to protect their mortal friend, and, with any luck save their own heads, not to mention the secret of the Immortals' existence. It was one thing to go in the Game, but if it was a hunter - mortal or Immoral, and a set-up, they wanted every advantage they could get.   
"Joe, are there any unusual Immortal movements around Seacouver at the moment?" asked Methos.  
"Only Jim Matthews, and Mac killed him".  
"He..he was the guy...when I leapt in..?"  
"Um, yeah", agreed Richie, realising what Sam was saying.  
"He was hunting Mac", commented Joe.  
"Oh", was the only response from Sam.  
"Sam, Mac's a good guy. He only kills when he really has to. It's difficult to understand if you're not an Immortal. When I first came back, I loathed the idea of killing, I still do, but I have killed. It's kill or be killed".  
Sam nodded slowly, whilst Methos grinned at Richie. Maybe there was some hope for the kid yet.   
"Mark Daniels", Methos suddenly remarked, remembering.  
"Who..?" asked Richie.  
"Mark Daniels. He is - was - Matthews' student."  
"Student..."  
"That wasn't in the chronicles..." Joe muttered.  
"I had a run in with him a couple of years ago, after I tried to challenge Matthews..."  
"You challenged Matthews? Why?" asked Richie.  
"I guess Mac's morals rubbed off on me. They were terrorising a couple of teenagers, showing off..."  
"Not to mention having a reputation of a head-hunter?"  
"Yeah, that too..."  
"Great. Mr 'I-haven't-felt-guilt-since-the-eleventh-century' has turned into a boy scout..."  
But Richie had a grin on his face.  
"Anyway", Methos continued, ignoring him, "having escaped me, Matthews decided that, as I was obviously so young and foolish, he would let his student practice on me. He only escaped by having the police show up. I would have caught up with them, but then other things kind of took my attention..."  
Joe nodded, imaging what those other things were. It had been an eventful year or so.  
"And Daniels is still alive?"  
"So far as I know. He was like a son to Matthews. Like all good sons, Daniels has started to follow in his father's footsteps. Matthews kept him well hidden from Watchers, and most other Immortals."  
"Trust you to know this. But, you think Daniels will be out for revenge?"  
"It's very possible. However, he's still young, and inexperienced."  
"Which means he would need help to pull this off. Which means..."  
"Hunters. Hmm, I wonder just who's pulling whose string on this one?"  
  
  
"Give me another beer, will ya?" the young-looking man growled at the bartender. The bartender hesitated for just a minute. The man had had quite a bit to drink already, although he wasn't causing any trouble - yet. He just sat there looking dark and moody, his long black coat swirled around him. Occasionally he muttered under his breath. Harsh, painfilled words about his teacher and the man who had just killed him. The bartender served him. It was business after all.  
Mark Daniels downed the drink as soon as it was put in front of him, but it was no good. Nothing dulled the pain. And the anger. Jim had been all he had left, and now that bastard MacLeod had killed him. He would pay. Mark would see to that!  
  
Half-hidden in the shadows of the other side of the bar, a middle-aged man smiled to himself as he watched the emotions flick across Mark Daniels' face. Watched the obvious thoughts going on in the other man's head. It was what he did. Yes, he thought, Daniels would be a good ally.  
  
Mark looked up at the feel of a hand on his shoulder.  
"Greetings", the grey haired man addressed him.  
"What do you want?" Mark growled in reply.  
"It's not what I want, it's what you want. And I can help you get it, Mark."  
"Who are you? How do you know my name?!"  
"My name's Ben Horton. Tell me, have you ever heard of the Watchers".   
The man sat down next to Mark. After half an hour of quiet conversation, a grin slowly spread across mark Daniels' face, and a self-satisfied one played across Ben Horton's lips. The two men shook hands.   
"So, you know what to do?" Horton confirmed, standing up. Daniels nodded. Horton nodded in response.  
" 'Till tomorrow, then", Horton remarked, and slipped out of the bar. Mark Daniels sipped the rest of his drink, the grin still on his face. He felt much better. Oh, yes, Duncan MacLeod would pay. And he wouldn't be the only one.  
  
Giving Daniels one last look through the window of the bar, Horton smiled to himself again. It had begun, and there was nothing his cousin's interfering brother-in-law could do about it, however far in the organisation he had reached. They would get their revenge. It was almost a shame that Daniels' would have to be short-lived. Ben almost felt sorry for the fact that Mark was an immortal, and as such, could also not be allowed to live. However, for now, he served the Hunters' purposes.   
  



	5. 

Chapter Five: Plans, meetings, and more meetings.  
  
Plans were being discussed, phonecalls made, research carried out, hybrid computers consulted. And, of course, plenty of beer and pizza being consumed.   
"Ok, so unofficial Watchers notes and reports state the probable death of Mark Daniels a week after the death of Duncan, Richie and Methos. Only, there's no challenge..." Al confirmed.  
"And Duncan's death is actually down as being by Mark Daniels, unofficially? And all three as being murdered by Joseph Dawson, in the police reports? Sorry, Joe…" Al nodded.   
Joe also nodded. That made sense. What didn't make sense was how he had been blamed and allowed to be executed.   
"It just doesn't make sense!" Joe remarked, rubbing his head. However much they went through the information, and discussed provisional plans to take out Mark Daniels, Joe couldn't help but feel that they were missing something. All these reports were unofficial journal entries by the Watchers concerned, his own included. The problem was that although they had the official police reports and a few unofficial reports, they had no official Watcher chronicles. Joe knew how difficult it was to get into the chronicles. They weren't a secret organisation for nothing. But Ziggy was trying her best to access them, with Joe's help. His passwords weren't working, though. Even if they had been changed when he was arrested, surely something was available? What had happened to change the whole Watcher system, and why hadn't they stopped him from being executed? That was what hurt the most; knowing that after all his years of service, they had just let him take the blame. Surely they hadn't believed he had killed them?! Even without compromising their secret, they could have helped him! Should have helped him! It didn't matter that this all hadn't happened yet, to Joe it cut just as deeply as if he was waiting to be taken to his death that day. The Watchers were his life, but now he was beginning to think that maybe there were some things more important. Like friendships. Some time ago, the Watchers had nearly been destroyed by his traitorous brother-in-law, James Horton. But, that was over, he and Mac and Methos had stopped it, and things were back to normal, albeit with a little more security within the Watchers. For a band of Hunters to strike up again, and it looked like they had - or would - meant that something was about to go very wrong!  
  
Joe looked up as he felt Methos' eyes boring into him.  
"What is it, Joe?"  
"I...I just...This just isn't right, Methos! Why did - do - they do nothing!?"  
Methos, as usual, told it like it was:  
"Do you think that the hunters would have so integrating the Watchers that they orchestrated this whole thing, to get rid of me and Mac, and Richie...and you?"  
Richie looked up sharply, worried for Joe. Sam, still feeling a little felt out of this close dynamic, just looked on sympathetically. He liked these people. They were good men, intelligent and good company, working well together. Well, as well as they could when they encountered dead-ends at every turn. In some ways, they reminded him of himself and Al - and some others, faint faces in the background, long lost, buried in the swiss-cheese - working to get Quantum Leap off the ground and keep their tentative funding.  
"Methos-"  
"It's ok, Rich. Someone had to say it, but the truth is, I just don't know. I sometimes feel like I'm kinda out of the loop on some things, cos of my friendship with you guys, but, well, maybe it is more than just a feeling..." Joe trailed off, as more morbid thoughts entered his head.  
"Is there anyone you can go to about this, Joe. Someone in the Watchers that you trust implacably?" Sam queried gently.  
"Maybe. She always keeps herself out of the way. I only really know her through phone calls and e-mails. She's English but lives in France a lot of the time. I think she visits here a bit, too."  
"How far can you trust her?" asked Methos, after a minute.  
"I don't know her that well, but she did defend me at the tribunal. I can trust her with my life. In fact, I sometime wonder..."  
He trailed off again, catching Methos' eye, neither needing to put into words exactly what it was that Joe sometimes wondered about his mysterious contact.  
"So, you'll see if she knows anything?" Sam asked.  
"Sure", Joe agreed readily, glad that he could actually contribute something concrete, finally. He sat back, rubbing his eyes and suppressing a yawn. This was closely followed by a matching one from Richie.  
Methos grinned.  
"You youngsters just can't keep the pace, can you?" he remarked.  
"Of course we can, it's jus-". A yawn finished Richie's well-meaning sentence, and Sam decided to stop events before everyone fell asleep on him.  
"Well, I don't think we can so much more tonight. It's getting late. Why don't we meet tomorrow evening at Joe's bar and see how far we've got. Joe, you want to contact your, er, contact?" he announced.  
"Sure, Mac..." Joe replied, absently, forgetting the situation.  
Richie just stared.  
"What?" asked Joe.  
"Joe, it's not Mac, remember?"  
"What, oh, God, yeah, sorry Sam. You just..."  
"Sounded so like him", Richie finished.   
Sam frowned, unsure that he wanted to be so like MacLeod. As much as he liked these people, he wasn't sure if he was entirely comfortable with the idea of Immortals, and the Game.  
"Don't worry, I'm used to being called by the name of the person I leap into. Being myself, kind of, is a bit of a novelty", he replied, forcing a grin. It was a novelty, and a nice one too. It would just make it harder to move on afterwards though. Not that he had a choice, and he could always hope, as he always did, that on his next leap he would find himself at home.   
  
Joe went to bed that night with his mind spinning. As if Immortals and Watchers weren't enough to deal with, he how had time-travellers. He couldn't really explain it, but ever since he had joined the Watchers he had become more open to things. Well, you had to really. Once you admitted the existence of immortal beings, reality was never quite the same again. Still, meeting Sam was definitely an experience. It did help that he had come across Sam and Al when he was younger. In some ways, it was relief to find that he hadn't just imagined those events of many years ago. He now resolved to do whatever he could to help the scientist, especially as it involved saving his own life and that of his best friends.   
  
The next morning, he awoke early, not terribly rested but still resolved. He put out an e-mail to Sara to keep an eye out for any unusual Immortal going-ons. Although, Joe thought with a wry grin, nearly all Immortal going-ons were unusual. He knew it might take a while to hear from her, but she'd come through for him the past, and although he was about to tell her about Sam and Al, he was sure she would help if all possible. Finishing, he went to grab a fresh cup of coffee, sighing to himself. He wished he could figure out what it was about all this that was particularly bugging him about this. Something he was missing… Not that there wasn't enough to be getting on with; what with possible murder accusations, time-travellers, the very possible murder of three of his closest friends - no, his family, really. He sighed and rubbed a hand over his beard, a habit he often increased when distracted. Finally deciding that he couldn't do anything else here he made his way downstairs to catch up on some book-keeping for the bar. At least it was mundane enough to take his mind off things for a few hours.  
  
It was only the sound of the telephone which woke him from his half-sleep state the book-work had put him into.   
"Joe's. Joe Dawson speaking".  
"Hey, Joe, it's Steven. Listen, have you heard about this meeting this afternoon? At Headquarters? I-I only found out about a half-hour ago, from Maggie. She said she got an e-mail yesterday morning, but I didn't. But she said I should go. But, the thing is, I promised Claire I'd go out with her… And, I really didn't know… It's really important to Claire that I go with her. Her parents are gonna be there…" The younger Watcher, directly under Joe's supervision, finally stopped for breath. Joe smiled, picturing Steven's fluster. He was a nice kid, only about Richie's age, and could shape up to be a good Watcher. He just needed to learn to be a little more confident and controlled. Joe thought about this meeting. He hadn't heard anything about it, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. Maybe it as stuff for new Watchers. Help them get to know each other, that sort of thing. Although, as Steven's direct supervisor, he should have known about that. And it wasn't just him who was invited, it was Steven. Someone who, as just demonstrated, would have gone straight to Joe with details of the meeting. The feeling that he was being left out of the loop returned. Maybe he should try and get into the meeting?  
"It's alright, Steven. You go and meet Claire's parents. Anything important's said, I'll let you know. Anyone ask, say you cleared it with me, and, especially as they forgot to inform you in time, your prior engagement took priority".  
"Thanks a million, Joe. I'll check in with you tomorrow".  
Joe smiled grimly and put the phone down. If he wasn't invited, he couldn't really attend this convert meeting. He was too high-profile, too recognisable. However, there was nothing to say a certain researcher couldn't go, even uninvited. Few people in the field knew the researchers, and besides, Adam Pierson could fade into the background as well as anyone. He picked up the phone again, and dialled Methos' number.   



	6. 

Chapter Six: A Piece of the Puzzle?  
  
Later, that afternoon:  
  
"Remind me again why I'm doing this", Methos grumbled as Joe drove through the busy evening traffic.  
"Because I have a feeling that this is the start of it all. There's something very strange about this meeting. Besides Sam and Al could find no records of this meeting taking place. That's suspicious in itself."  
"So now I'm supposed to believe the word of a so-called time-traveller and his invisible friend. Now, I know living as long as I have may have made me a little cynical but..."  
He was interrupted by a loud snort from his travelling companion. He ignored it.  
"...but I've seen many, many things in my time, and time-travellers are not one of them!"  
"Well, fine. Don't help, then. I'll just drop you here, shall I? Try and get into this convert meeting myself! But, just listen to me for one second! I know you don't like the idea of there being things out there that even you've never come across, but it could happen. You're 5000 years old, you're not God. These things happen to the best of us. Besides, living so long, I thought you were the world's best pragmatist. Next to Mac, you're like Mr 20th Century! Hell, you had me believing in Adam Pierson for ten years!"  
Joe stopped for breath. Methos could tell he'd touched a nerve. Of course he'd go to the bloody meeting, however much he thought it would be a boring waste of time.  
"If you don't want to do it cos of what these 'so-called time travellers' say, then do it for me. I believe in Sam. I believe he helped my mother, and I believe he can help now. Otherwise, I'm probably about to face the two worst events of my life since loosing my legs. And at least one will be considerably worse!"  
Methos sighed.  
"I'm sorry, Joe. You know I'll go to the meeting. Now, come on, or I'll be late".  
With a shake of his head, and a small grin on his face, Joe gunned the engine.  
  
PQL Headquarters:  
  
Al wiped a hand over his face, trying to clear both his eyes and his mind, as he wandered along to the visitor room. It had been a very long day. Thanks to the time difference between him and Sam, while it had been 4.00am Al's time, it had been 7pm already in Sam's time. Whilst his friend had been sleeping, Al had been working, for - with the to-and-froing between time periods - getting on 20 hours. Where the Hell had they gone, he wondered. Even though they hadn't made much progress in their research, he knew he really needed some sleep. He was worried about Sam. But, then, when wasn't he?! At least he had some extra help this time. He would have one quick check on Duncan, then get some sleep.  
  
When he entered the room, Duncan was pacing up and down, like some caged tiger, all contained strength and stealth. Trouble was, he had nowhere to go.  
"What's happening?" he growled.  
"Joe found out about a secret Watchers meeting and Methos is going to it..."  
"Ok, good. And Richie?"  
"Richie's fine. Sam's fine. Both frustrated at the lack of progress. I think Richie's still scared, though."  
"He's stronger than he looks. He's been through a lot."  
"I know".  
"Yeah, I guess you would...I just wish there was something I could do."  
Al could see Duncan was trying not to keep pacing, not to lash out with frustration. He knew the feeling.  
"I'm so used to being there, being able to help..."  
"Well, actually you are there..."   
Duncan scowled.  
"Ok, ok, sorry. I know it's frustrating, but it will work out. If there is anything you can think of. Anyone who might be behind this, anyone after you...?"  
Duncan gave a wry laugh.  
"Way too many people. But, no-one I can think of who might pull something like this".  
"Ok, we'll keep working on this. Meanwhile, why don't you try and get some sleep. I know I am".  
Duncan nodded curtly, and Al wearily left the room.  
  
Watcher Headquarters, Seacouver:  
  
Despite receiving a few odd looks, Adam Pierson had had no trouble getting into the hush-hush meeting. He'd taken the further liberty of carrying a miniature recorder with him, just in case. As he sat in a far back corner, seats around quietly filling up, he was starting to believe that Joe may have been onto something. The atmosphere was thick and tense, the medium-sized conference room becoming filled to bursting point, the attendees a mixture of age and positions as far as he could see. There were a few people he recognised, a large number of what looked to fairly new recruits, looking around in anxiety and curiousity, and many others who looked as bored as he had felt not ten minutes earlier. He also noticed people from the 'Immortals are different to us, so make sure you stay away from them', school of thought. He aways wondered exactly why these people became Watchers in the first place? Was it just to keep them from going the newpapers? What it was, it didn't bode well. Ever since James Horton and his merry band of Hunters, there had still been little, quiet pockets of almost-hunters, hidden from the upper echons of the Watchers, seemingly reformed and behaving themselves. But Methos always felt that they were just waiting watching, biding their time. He strongly hoped their time wasn't now. But, he just as strongly believed it probably was. It was too much of a coincidence to think otherwise.   
  
A sudden hush fell as a tall, non-descript looking man made his way out onto the stage.  
"Welcome, friends", he greeted. Methos was reminded of cult-religion religion meetings he'd attended a couple of times in the seventies.   
"I thank you for coming here today. I know this may seem sudden, covert, underhand, and it is true that certain Watchers in more higher-up positions were not invited here. But, I only have the best of intentions in bringing you here. So, why are you here? Why are we here? I'll tell you, friends. It is to usher in a new age for the Watchers!"  
A collective gasp rose up from the floor. Methos scowled, resisting the urge to temporarily kill himself there and then and spare himself the next couple of hours of nonsense. Instead, he lowered himself in his seat and double-checked his tape recorder was switched on. Just in case he fell asleep.   
"The reason why many haven't been invited is because they value the old ways too much. Out-dated ways. We have become weak, my friends! We sit idely by and let these Immortals do whatever they like. Let them assert their so-called superiority over us mortals. They abuse their power. But we have more power! We can control them. We tried once before, but too many of the old ways were enforced and we failed. It resorted in the death of my cousin, James Horton. He was killed in cold blood by one of the most dangerous Immortals of them all. Duncan MacLeod."  
Another gasp came from the assembled crowd. Methos groaned. Not another bloody Horton. His cousin?! Where did they all come from?! At least they knew now why Joe wasn't invited!   
"When James was killed, I was banished from the Watchers. But, now our time has come, and I have returned to lead us against the Immortals. This time we will succeed! Are you with me, my friends? It is our time now, and it will be great!"  
A slow, slightly-confused and scared cheer began in response, soon growing as his listeners considered what they'd just been told and decided that yes, they wanted greatness, and they could fight the Immortals. They all knew the recent rumours of the increasing evil of the Immortals had been true. Now, there seemed to be something they could do about it!  
Ben Horton smiled at his new recruits. Those he'd picked, already suspicious of Immortals thanks to certain selective e-mails doing the rounds, were keen and enthusiastic. It wouldn't take long for them to be ready to follow him to their destiny. The numbers were good. More than he hoped, and they would soon grow even further. Soon, Duncan MacLeod and all those around him would pay!   
  



	7. An Oscar-Winning Performance?

Chapter Seven: An Oscar-winning Performance?   
  
As the afternoon wore on, there was more of the same. Methos wondered just how many ways you could say 'kill all Immortals'. He wondered whether he really as the only one bored and unconvinced. He wasn't really worried about this new splinter group of Watchers. At the moment they were all talk, no action. But they would need watching, of course, and he knew that Duncan and Joe would want to do something about this before they started to get even an ioto dangerous. And, if he was honest with himself, he would have to agree with them. Then he remembered about Duncan. Or rather, Sam. Maybe this was more serious than he thought. If this Sam was right, then this Ben Horton and his followers could well be the ones responsible for his own death, and that of Mac, Richie and Joe.   
  
He managed to hold out until the end of the meeting, although he really didn't know how much help it had been. Still, who knew what might Horton might try. Some information on him was better than none, and he'd get Joe to dig up his Watcher file as soon as he got back to the bar. Hoping to make a swift and unseen get-away, he headed quickly but quietly for the door. But it was too late. As he got within ten feet of it, blending unconspiciously into the background, he felt eyes watching him from behind. He turned and met the cruel, cool smile of a young man he vaguely remembered from the Watcher Academy. He had a bad feeling about this.   
"Why, if it isn't Adam Pierson. Still Joe Dawson's little lapdog, are you, Adam?" the man asked, his voice raising dangerously high towards the end, clearly heard despite the number of people in the room. He carried on towards the door, knowing that this wasn't the time for a confrontation.   
"That's right, Pierson, run back to Dawson. Then you'll both get charged with treason..."   
Methos continued ignoring the man; didn't even give him the satisfaction of looking at him.   
"Hey, are you deaf as well as stupid, Pierson?"   
Methos cursed under his breath, and told himself it just wasn't worth it.   
"I said, what are you, deaf? Stupid? Maybe you're just a coward. Like Dawson. Both of you going to that freak MacLeod for protection..."   
Methos was seething. The moron could insult him but when he started on Joe and Mac, that was it! He twirled around.   
"I don't know what your problem is, and frankly I don't care, but you leave my friends out of this", he said quietly, letting the ice drip from each word.   
"Or what? You wanna piece of me Pierson? Or aren't you so big without your Immortal sidekick. Getting a little too friendly, aren't we? Did we forget our oath as well?"   
"Ok, you want to take this outside. Come on then!"   
By now they were the centre of attention, and Methos was beyond caring. So much for a low profile. But if he was going to get killed next week anyway...   
The crowd gathered around suddenly shifted as they let Horton through to watch the proceedings.   
"Trouble, boys?"   
"No. Just a little-disagreement" Methos' opponent answered.   
"Just be careful, Gibbs"   
Gibbs, thought Methos so that was his name. It didn't help much though.   
"What have you got against me, anyway, Gibbs" he asked as he approached the other man. Horton had stepped back and Methos could see him out the corner of his eye. He had a strange smile playing around the edge of his mouth, and Methos realised that he was probably greatly enjoying this.   
"You don't remember? Why aren't I surprised? Besides the fact that you are a pathetic excuse for a Watcher and a traitor to the organisation, there's the little matter of Methos".   
"What do you mean?"   
"I mean, Pierson, that the Head of the Methos Project should have been mine! Ever since I learnt about the Watchers, I've been fascinated by Methos. I knew I could prove his existence! Then you came along, got all buddy-buddy with Dawson and Salzer, and were suddenly flavour of the month."   
"Well, Gibbs, I guess that's just the way the cookie crumbles. It's too bad they choose the right man for the job", Methos drawled. The man was now way beyond irritating.   
With a snarl, Gibbs rushed at him, slamming into him and punching at him left, right and centre. Methos, taken slightly by surprise, felt a rib crack before he managed to start dodging the blows. Gibbs was fast but unskilled, and Methos was able to get a couple of good blows in himself. The other man was strong, though, and keep coming. Finally managing to wind him with a direct hit to the stomach, Methos paused to regain his breath. He therefore took his attention away from his opponent, therefore missed Gibbs launch himself at him once more. Even with 500 years of experience it was too late by the time Methos saw the flash of silver in the other man's hand. He gasped as the knife bit deeply into his chest. Shit! He would die for sure! The last thing he saw before he clacked out was Gibbs' smug grin.   
  
Methos gasped for breath as he came back to life. Looking up he saw he was still on the floor in the meeting hall. The 'body' had been moved to one side. The place was practically empty. Only Horton and six other fairly senior Watcher remained, clearing up. Gibbs was no-where to be seen. He wondered whether it was too much to hope that he hadn't been heard awakening. It was. Horton and the others were approaching him. He wondered how to play this, and decided after a minute that the new-immortal-in-denial way was probably best.   
"Pierson?" Andrew Browning, a senior researcher who he knew only by reputation, was bending down to him. Not surprisingly, he looked very pale.   
"What happened?! Where's Gibbs! He had a knife, the bastard!"   
"Adam, Gibbs is gone. You've been - out - for some time".   
"He knifed me in the chest! The man's crazy! How could you let him go?" he cried, sitting up.   
"He could have killed me!! Hell, that wound must have felt worse than it was. Why aren't I in a hospital yet?" He added a slight shake - from shock - into his voice, as he felt at his 'wound'. He paled as he searched for the knife entry point.   
"Adam-", Browning began gently. By now he had been joined by two of the other men still in the room. Methos knew neither of them. Horton was watching them but was at the back of the group. The remaining three watchers were standing between him and Horton, as if unsure how close to 'the Immortal' to get.   
"What-what's going on?" he whispered.   
"Adam...Adam, stop".   
"My chest..."   
"Adam...Gibbs did kill you..." one of the other men told him gently, a shake in his own voice.   
"What, no!!"   
"I'm sorry, Adam". This from Browning again.   
"No!!"   
"Adam! There's no wound, because you're..."   
"Don't say it! It's not possible!"   
"Adam, you stopped breathing! We saw you die. And, just now, we saw you awake".   
"No, please, no".   
"Adam, it will be ok..." began the third man,looking at Browning for help.   
"It's not your fault. You didn't know you were Immortal..."   
"Oh, God..."   
Browning put an arm around Methos' shoulder, throwing worried glances at his friends.   
"I can't... I can't do this! I can't be an Immortal! They're monsters. I don't want to be like them". Their was a catch in Methos' voice that surprised even him.   
The Watchers exchanged surprised looks. Maybe Horton speech had affected Adam Pierson more than anyone had thought. They all knew about his tentative friendship with Duncan MacLeod, through Joe Dawson, but had seen fit to turn a blind eye to at as Adam was young and native and also one of the best researchers and language experts they had. But, still, there had to be a world of difference between having the odd drink with your boss and his Immortal friend and becoming one yourself - hell, Dawson had probably intimidated Adam into breaking his own oath just so that he himself wouldn't be caught. He knew the Immortals were supposed to be their enemy now, but he couldn't help feeling sorry for Pierson.   
"Adam, I'm truly sorry..."   
" 'Sorry'?! Huh, well, you're not the one who suddenly became one of the one you've studied. You won't have people after your head at all hours of the day and night. You won't have to learn to sword fight! Oh, God, do you know the funny thing? I can't stand violence!" His voice rose steadily, becoming almost hysterical. He stood up, now, tearing himself away from Browning and pacing up and down doing his best Duncan MacLeod impression.   
"Surely MacLeod..."   
"Mac? Oh, God, I couldn't go to him! I'd be too scared. He's 400 years old. 400! I'm a new Immortal. What if he tries to take my head."   
Browning and the others nodded gravely. After all, MacLeod had turned on friends in the past. It was in his chronicle.   
"Oh, God, what am I going to do?!" Adam whispered to himself.   
"Adam, it will be alright. Look, it's not your fault. You didn't ask to be immortal..."   
Methos almost laughed at that one. The man was so full of irony it was unbelievable. If only he believe his own words long enough to realise that no immortal asked to be immortal, that it wasn't any immortal's fault and that punishing them for something decided at birth was as bad as killing people for the colour of their skin.   
"No! It won't be alright...I need-I need to go". Glancing down at his blood-stained shift and muttering 'oh God, oh my God', he grabbed his coat which had been placed on a nearby chair, flung it on to cover the blood and rushed out of the door, ignoring Browning's frantic calls.   
"Leave him", he heard Horton comment. "With any luck he'll be be-headed before night-fall".   
He grinned to himself. 'And the Oscar for best new-immortal performance goes to...' Thank goodness they'd bought it. Still, why wouldn't they? He was the best, after all. 


End file.
